Chapter 6: 6. Red

I am a little embarrassed to say it, but I had a Google alert on her name. She was over the other side of the country, in LA, at the moment. Which was fine, of course, we had been seeing each other for a couple of months, but everything was very informal.

I was at home when I got the alert; “Actor and his girlfriend assaulted by ecoterrorists,” or some such. The news article had the video. Sabine and her ‘boyfriend’ were attending some party or premiere. There was quite a crowd of onlookers—for the celebs, not really for the CEOs. 

Two figures break from the crowd, getting past security. They both have guns, at least at first glance. The foremost raises her gun at Sabine, and fires a stream of red liquid. Then Curse is there, charging from offscreen at a ridiculous speed. It’s wearing leather motorcycling gear, and its helmet, but no-one is going to imagine it’s human. 

It somehow got between Sabine and the first assailant; pushing Sabine out of the way. Curse and the useless boyfriend were covered in watery red dye. Curse swipes the water gun with one arm, causing it to split into plastic, springs and redness. The other assailant is still raising her gun, but Curse kicks it out of her hand. It lands on the red carpet with a crack, and leaks very nearly the same shade. Curse stands in front of Sabine, ready. Eventually, security reacts. Her boyfriend looks disgusted at his sopping tuxedo. 

The background mostly concerned the actor; there was a lot of speculation on whether the dye was poison or acid or ‘red fentanyl’ but, no, it was just water made to look like blood. There was little about the assailants, though the news stories seemed to be gradually switching from terrorists to protesters.

Eventually, I found a link to a manifesto; they were protesting about SUUUN, a MerHu subsidiary, and its—certainly dodgy, probably illegal—land use in Brazil.

I sighed, because they were probably right.

I turned off my PC and went to bed.

⁂

The intercom chimed a few hours before I normally woke up. It chimed several times before I was alert enough to stumble across and press the button.

“It’s me,” said Sabine, quietly. “Can I come up?”

I buzzed her in, and went and waited at the door. I was glad the elevator was working at the moment. 

Curse accompanied Sabine; it wore fresh motorcycle gear. Sabine wore a big coat over jeans and a tee.

“Are you okay?” I asked, letting them in.

“No,” said Sabine, and leant into me. She began crying.

“Hey, hey,” I said, guiding us over to the threadbare sofa, pulling us both down.

She sniffed. “Sorry,” she said. “You must think I’m silly.”

I shook my head.

“Doll,” she said, “can you tell her what happened?”

“I saw the video,” I said. “I’ve got an al— I happened to catch it. It looked scary.”

“I thought they were going to shoot me!” she said. “I know you will laugh, but I don’t like people really hating me.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

“They weren’t trying to kill me, of course,” she said, still sniffling. “And it’s a PR nightmare, for me and the company. I had to be brave in an interview; deploring their actions, but celebrating their passion for the environment, a passion that is shared by SUUUN, and so on. More tomorrow. But, the main thing is; they were so angry with me, with what I am.” She was crying again.

“It’s different when you hate me,” she said, eventually. 

“Yeah,” I said. “Because I’m not very good at it.”

“I’m not really evil, am I?” Sabine said, burying her face in my shoulder.

I paused. “No,” I lied.

⁂

I took her to bed. Honestly, it was time I changed the sheets, but she didn’t seem to mind. She had gone to sleep clutching my arm. She looked oddly vulnerable when sleeping.

It was midmorning when she finally awoke. I was already dressed, and had phoned in sick to work. She looked up and smiled at me.

“I like your apartment,” she said.

“It’s tiny, and yet still eats up most of my paycheck,” I said, grumpily. “I’m lucky it’s too small for roommates.”

“It smells of you,” Sabine said.

“Wow, great,” I said.

“I like it,” she said. “And you’ve got a quirky sense of style.”

“Craigslist and sidewalk finds,” I said. I wasn't sure why I was getting mad at her for compliments.

“Fuck,” she said. “Where’s my handbag?”

“Floor,” I said. She leant off the bed to get it, pulling out her phone. “Shit,” she said. “Pip, can you give me twenty minutes to deal with this clusterfuck?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m going to the deli, anyway.”

Curse was still by the door. I didn’t need to tell it to look after her.

⁂

She was still on the bed, on her phone, when I came back. I was quiet.

It was strange, seeing her amongst my sheets, wearing one of my old tee shirts and yet talking in CEO mode. I’d heard the voice before; friendly, assured, maybe a little bit cocky, casually informal. She was talking about MerHu’s commitment to green issues, and how it was important that this got full consumer penetration. I could tell she was in CEO mode by the fact that she didn’t even grin over ‘consumer penetration’.

When she was done, she tossed the phone down. 

“Coffee and bagels,” I said, gesturing to the bag on the table. She scrambled off the bed and over to the table.

“It’s kind of convenient, this studio set-up,” she said.

“Yes, that was definitely the landlord’s thinking when he subdivided the old apartments with actual rooms,” I said.

“Do you really not like it?” she said, sipping her coffee. “Why don’t you stay in the penthouse, then? Plenty of room, and handy for work.”

I was a bit surprised; I didn’t think we had that kind of relationship. 

“Um,” I said, “I didn’t think we had that kind of relationship.”

She shrugged. “Again, Pip, I’m not asking you to marry me. Just what’s the point of you leaving in the early hours of the morning to schlep back here to get changed? I’ve got wardrobe space, store some clothes there and save yourself some time.” She broke off a tiny bit of bagel. “And when I’m out of town, it would be nice to have you at the penthouse, which has got really fast internet.”

On another recent England trip, we had tried to have a sexy zoom call, but the low bit rate had left us glitchy and out of sync. My somewhat flighty erection had not cooperated.

“Um, okay, sure,” I said.

She smiled.

“Oh shit, yeah,” I said, suddenly remembering. “You should move your car, it’s likely to get ticketed there.”

She looked at me for a moment, and then burst into laughter. “A ticket, Pip! Oh no! How much will they charge? Will I have to sell the company?”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “It’s a fair amount to my friends. Just because you’ve got more money than sense…”

“I’d have thought you’d have been more concerned about me being driven by the doll. It hasn’t got a licence!”

“What!” I said. “Curse, what are you doing putting Sabine at risk like that?”

“This one has been driving since the Model ‘T’ Ford,” Curse said, voice calm and musical. “It is simply that the driving test insists its taker must be human.”

“Do you want to tell me how much of a fine they will levy for that?” said Sabine. “I can call our treasurer, and see if we can possibly afford it.”

“You’re so annoying,” I said.

Sabine smiled and looked down.

“So what do you want to do today,” I asked.

“Hmm,” she said, considering. “Got any duct tape?”

“What? No,” I said, “I have serious butch friends I call if I need to fix ducts, or whatever.”

“No, dork,” she said, looking down again. “To tie me up.”

“Oh. Oh no, you shouldn’t use duct tape for that,” I said. “There’s, like, special bondage tape.”

“Well, have you got some?”

“No.”

“Well,” Sabine said. “I was thinking you could be an ecoterrorist, and I would be the CEO. You’ve got me trussed up in whatever tapes or rope we’ve got. And you’re angry, so first of all you beat the—”

“No,” I said.

She sighed. “Fine. I’m scared but sadly unbeaten, and you use me in whatever way you like, spending your anger on fucking me into a broken mess.”

“I think consensual non-consent is—”

“Wait,” she said. “First of all, admit you find it hot.”

I paused.

“Come on Pip, we are not strangers,” she said. “Yours was the first gock I ever saw, apart from the doll’s, I suppose. You can tell me.”

“Yes, alright. It’s hot,” I said. “Do you have any idea how often—like when you are talking about fines being for poor people—I want to gag you and just fuck you until you can’t form coherent words any more.”

She wiggled in place. “You should do that,” she said. “Please.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t understand why you’re so hesitant about a bit of consensual violence and mock violation,” she said. “You like it too.”

“Because we—trans women—are described as dangerous predators,” I said. “Always ready to prey on innocent cis folks. We internalise it. Sometimes we even wonder if it’s true. I look at you and… do I want to hurt you?”

“No,” she said, grabbing my hand across the table. “You don’t. You really think I can’t tell? You really think I would trust you otherwise? I don’t trust people easily, Pip.”  

I squeezed her hand. “I wish you weren’t a billionaire, Sabine.”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “If only I lived in poverty.”

“No,” I said. “I’m not saintly. Just if you had a million or so.”

“I’d see if I could invest it into two million,” she said. 

“Shit, you would, wouldn’t you?” I said. “Okay, I wish that just me had a million, then.”

“And I’ve got nothing?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’d look after you.”

She grinned. “You’d take pity on me?”

“Sure.”

“But what if I made you cross,” she said.

“Well, you’d need to be careful that you didn’t,” I said. “I wouldn’t throw you out unless you were really naughty, of course. A bit of physical discipline would bring you into line.”

“Yes,” Sabine agreed, squirming in her seat. “If I submit myself fully to you, you might stay your anger, at least a bit.”

“Perhaps if you were really good,” I said, “I might let you wear some clothes. Otherwise, you had better get used to a collar and leash.”

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Do you have a collar and leash? Here, I mean?”

“No.”

“See, this is why you should be a billionaire,” she said. “You need bondage tape and a leash on hand.”

“For a billion, I could probably get a couple.”

“See?” she said. “It’s not evil to have money.”

“It kind of is though, that much money,” I said. “Bad for ordinary people. Bad for the planet.”

She shook her head. “Okay, okay, we don’t need an economics lecture,” she said. “Can we go back to me being a naked, pitiful dog?”

“But if you weren’t a billionaire, I’d be a lot less conflicted about lo…. liking you.”

“Billionaires are natural,” said Sabine. “While society has money, we’re going to have winners and losers.”

“Well, society shouldn’t have money,” I said, “but while we do, yes, it will probably be unfair; but that would be like you making twenty, fifty, one-hundred times as much as me, not untold millions.”

“It wasn’t like I could help it,” she said.

“Yes, your family is very wealthy, that’s not really an excuse.” I raised my voice.

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“I’m not giving excuses,” snapped Sabine. “I’m giving reasons. I’m proud of growing the companies and acquiring new ones. They are good for people; they employ lots of them.”

“Right, but they would employ less if they could, wouldn’t they?” I said. “It’s not like it’s a charity.”

“Of course not,” said Sabine. “But they are a net good in the world.”

“How?” I said, exasperated.

“For example, we’re top quartile in most ecological metrics,” she said.

“Does that mean anything, or is it just advertising?” I said. “I looked up SUUUN on the internet, Sabine. Biofuels and solar power, sounds great. Well, okay, some questions around biofuels, but still. Except they’re chopping down ancient rainforest to do so.”

“In a couple of cases,” said Sabine, shrugging. “And some pre-cleared land was used as well. But mostly it is just arable land.”

“We can’t afford to lose any of these old rainforest carbon sinks,” I said.

“The area is being developed,” she said. “If not by us, then by a competitor. And we care about carbon capture; we’ve got several companies selling carbon credits.”

“Oh, what fucking bullshit.”

“So, what, you think those protesters were right?” she said, balling her fists.

“Basically, yes,” I said. “They shouldn’t have scared you, but it’s not like they had a lot of opportunities to protest. I mean, in a way that people will actually notice.”

“I thought I was going to die,” she said.

“That was wrong,” I said. “But they had good points, and some of the news stories are mentioning them. If I didn’t know you, I’d say it was a decent job.”

“Fuck you,” she said, pushing back from the table. “Fuck you,” she repeated, in tears.

She left. Curse looked at me, and then followed her.

⁂

I tried to watch some mindless television, but I couldn’t concentrate.

I googled MerHu’s ecological issues; there were pages of them. I read them all, trying to justify myself. I was right, of course. I probably shouldn’t even be working there, let alone fucking the CEO. I mean, that was Leftist 101; don’t fuck them. I hadn’t asked, but she was probably a Republican. No, she was probably a “didn’t do politics” idiot; privileged fucker. She should try having her party choice be: “we’re going to genocide you,” versus “meh.”

Billionaires could present as normal people, but they weren’t. Look at their relationships; they must have seemed like regular people, once. Their partners thought that they were people they could laugh with, fall in love with. But they weren’t. There was no reason for me to be crying.

I pulled the ace of hearts from my pocketbook, and stared at it.

At a little past midnight, my phone buzzed. A text message from Sabine’s number.

“Greetings mistress. This one is the doll sometimes called Curse. Please come to the penthouse.”

I was surprised it could use phones; I didn’t know why that confused me, but it did.

I texted back “Why?” but there was no reply. I tried ringing, but there was no answer.

I grabbed my car keys.

⁂

The lounge table was covered in playing cards, face-up, strewn randomly. A wine glass. The remnants of a few lines. 

Curse’s hand was raised, and it was standing above Sabine.

Sabine was slumped on the floor at the side of the sofa. She was naked and covered in bruises and red marks. Her lip was bleeding.

I caught Curse’s arm, even knowing as I did that it was pointless; I might as well try to stop a bulldozer. “What are you doing?” I yelled.

“Exactly as this one was ordered, mistress,” said Curse.

“What’s it to you?” Sabine said, words slurring. “Again, doll. Harder, so I can feel it.”

“No!” I cried.

“This doll cannot handle conflicting commands,” it said. I was sure I detected some relief in its tone. “Please come to an agreement before instructing me.”

The doll went and stood in the corner.

“Why are you listening to her?” Sabine shouted after it. “Just fuck off, Philippa.”

“What are you doing?” I said. It took all my effort not to yell.

“Fuck off,” she said, quietly. “Leave me alone.”

I grabbed her under her armpits, and lifted her onto the sofa. She flailed at me, ineffectual punches on my shoulders. I grabbed her wrists, and sat beside her.

“Why are you here?” she said. “You hate me.”

“Do you need a hospital?” I asked.

“The injuries and intoxication are not to a degree that require hospitalisation,” said Curse. “There is a first-aid kit in the kitchen.”

“Fetch it,” I said. “And bring her a dressing gown.”

Sabine was crying now. I tentatively released her wrists.

With the—impressive—first-aid kit I cleaned and dressed her wounds; plenty of band-aids and gauze. Sabine just sat there.

“Okay, all done,” I said, eventually. 

“You can go now,” she said, sullenly. 

“Um, no,” I said. “I need to make sure you’re alright.”

“You don’t care!” she shouted. “You hate me. You despise everything I am.”

“No.” Not everything.

She fell silent again.

“I fucked the doll,” she said, eventually. “Well, had it fuck me. It’s bigger and harder than you. Had it slap the shit out of me, as well. It’s not a pussy about that, like you are.”

“Curse can’t refuse you. You should not have had it hit you,” I said. “I think it was upset.”

“Why do you always care so much about non-people?” she said. “Why don’t you care about me?”

“I do.”

“You don’t care,” she said. “You thought that the people who I thought were going to kill me had a point.”

Well, they did. “I’m sorry, I mis-communicated, and that hurt you.”

“And I tell you that a doll fucked me and beat me,” she said, “and you’re worried for the fucking doll.”

“I’m here because I’m worried about you, Sabine,” I said.

“You—”

“No, shut up,” I said. “I rushed over here, because I was worried. And this crazy behaviour is not making me any less worried. What are you doing?”

“Oh, can I speak now?” she asked, quietly.

I nodded, but she didn’t speak, she just suppressed some sobs.

“It’s just…” she said. “You win, I suppose.”

“Win?” I asked, incredulously.

“I like to take risks,” she said. “But I made the doll go through a whole pack of cards. I made it fuck me and beat me, and I felt nothing.”

I remained quiet, but stroked her shoulder.

“Because you hated me,” she said. “I always thought that was alright. I don’t mind you hating me, but… but I wish you also cared about me.”

“I do, of course.”

She shook her head, took a deep breath. “I wish you loved me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? What do you mean okay?”

“I mean, I have a google alert on you. I hate your boyfriend. I haven’t even wanted to fuck anyone else. I come rushing over here in the middle of the night because of a cryptic text message,” I said. “So, yeah, love is probably accurate.”

She blinked.

“But,” I said, “I do think you have some major issues to work on.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Come on,” I said, standing up. “Let’s go to bed, I’m too tired to think now.”

“Are you sure?” she said. “You really sure you want to get involved with a billionaire with issues?”

“Hey, I have issues of my own.” Like ignoring red flags.

⁂

We had to be careful with the bondage tape. It was a couple of days later, but Sabine’s bruises still hurt, and we had to make sure we didn’t make them worse.

So she was fastened to the bedspread, arms secured with careful strips, watching me masturbate.

My technique was a mix of rubbing and jerking. I shuffled closer to Sabine, between her splayed legs.

“It’s a shame I can’t fuck you,” I said. “But you were too rough with my toy. But don’t worry, you can watch me while you heal.”

“I think we—”

I took a hand off my girldick and put it over her mouth. “Now, now, toy, don’t make me extend the wait time.”

I returned to masturbating; Sabine watched, her face an adorable mixture of arousal and frustration. I was looking at her face when I came; I wish I shot ropes, but instead it was my normal intermittent spurt, watery cum over my hand. But Sabine gave a grunt and a shiver, almost as if I had painted her. 

Sabine looked me in the eyes, and opened her mouth. I put my messy fingers between her lips, and she sucked on them greedily.

“I wonder,” I mused, “if I was gentle enough, whether I could finger you.”

My fingers stopped Sabine from replying, but she nodded urgently. 

“You have been good,” I said, shuffling around a bit, and brushing my other hand against her tuft of pubic hair. “But maybe it would be safer not to.”

She shook her head.

“Okay,” I said. “But if you make any noise, any moans or gasps, then I’ll assume you’re in pain, and stop. Any noise. Got that?”

She flashed me a rebellious look, but then nodded. I removed my hand, and kissed her, not too roughly, as her split lip was still healing.

I adjusted her and my angles, and traced my hands over her lower lips. Her breath caught. A little more pressure, my fingers exploring.

“Ah, you’re very wet,” I said. “A stupid slutty toy, flooding yourself every time I’m a tiny bit mean.” I slipped a couple fingers inside her, listening to the sound of her breathing, a halt and then aspiration. 

She pressed against my fingers; I thrust them in further. She gave a soundless gasp. I worked my fingers within her, thrusting and curling.

With my other hand, fingers still damp from her saliva, I reached for her clitorus. I traced around it first, massaging the hood. As it began to peek out, I brushed it. She made the tiniest moan; I pretended not to notice.

I curled my fingers inside her, and she came. Her cunt pressed down on my fingers; I tried to keep her orgasming for as long as possible. She shuddered and panted, making soft whines, pulling against the bondage tape. Eventually the tremors stopped, and I withdrew my hand. I kissed her, again.

Interlude 

Chains rust and eventually fall away. This one washed up on a quiet shore. It spent some time in an antique store before an observant witch recognised that this one was a doll. The witch was called Grace, and she was as clever as she was beautiful. Through magical inquiries she discovered what this one was made of and for. She kept me in her library, and talked to me every day. Taught me, as well, many of the subjects her library contained. She would laugh, sometimes, and this would spur this one into trying to understand her jokes. 

But this was a time of chaos among the witches; many cabals were fighting for power, both arcane and temporal. And my witch had ended up on the wrong side of a conflict. They came to kill Grace. Her library was burning. She asked this one to defend her.

Many witches and their followers died; musket-balls and fireballs raining upon this one with as much effect as an April shower. Blood and bone were spilled and splintered.

When they were all dead, this one suggested to its beloved witch that we run to somewhere safe. But even as this one spoke, the feeling of compulsion arose; its price was fixed. 

My witch knew and smiled. On the ruins of a bed, she made love to me. This one will not share all that it remembers; the roof was open to the sky, and the night was warm and far too short. 

When this one took her life, it discovered one flaw in its design; its eyes were made of wood and lacquer. They cannot cry.

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